The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (36 page)

Iremaia shook his head sadly. “Not bring musket ashore . . . enemy between us and ship.”

Nathan looked at the outcasts and knew Iremaia was right. Access to the beach was impossible. It was then he heard the ringing of axes against timber. The outcasts had begun felling trees from the nearby rainforest. As each tree fell, other outcasts began dragging them close to the flooded ditch. It was obvious they planned to use these to bridge the obstacle.

#
 

After a brief respite, a shout alerted Iremaia’s warriors that the outcasts were coming again. Carrying the six trees they’d felled, the outcasts extended them across the ditch, forming makeshift bridges. Then, at a signal from Rambuka, they began attempting the tricky crossing.

Despite the spears and other missiles being rained down on them, most of the outcasts managed to get across. Their ranks quickly swelled as more crossed over.

After several failed attempts to scale the palisades, half a dozen outcasts managed to break through. One came straight at Nathan, swinging his musket, which he was holding like a club. The American ducked beneath his assailant’s weapon and shot him at point-blank range.

Nearby, Joeli was proving equally useful. Holding his huge club in his right hand and a tomahawk in his left, the ratu’s son dispatched two outcasts with deadly efficiency. Fighting alongside Joeli, the handsome young Waisale and the one-eyed Babitu were just as deadly, dispatching three outcasts between them.

The expansive and colorful hairdos worn by many of the Qopa made them readily identifiable—especially Waisale, whose shocking pink hair set him apart from everyone else and, unfortunately for him, also made him a target. Several outcasts lined him up in their sights, but amazingly none found their mark. Waisale would claim later his hair created magic that protected him. His friends would argue the marksmen were blinded by the brightness of his hair.

As the invaders kept coming, Nathan’s thoughts returned to his muskets. While he was still reluctant to risk losing them, he knew they represented his only way out of his present predicament. He looked at the
Rendezvous
out in the bay and at the headland behind him. An idea came to him and he hurried over to Joeli. “We need muskets!” he shouted. Joeli grunted his reluctant agreement. “I have muskets,” Nathan reminded him. Joeli looked directly at the
Rendezvous
and then back to the young American. Nathan continued, “My friends on board could bring the muskets to the cliffs.” He pointed back at the headland behind them. “We could haul them up the cliff face.”

Joeli considered this,
then gave the briefest of nods. Nathan immediately turned and ran back to the bure he’d spent the night in. Inside, he retrieved a small mirror from his carry-bag, dashed back outside, and ran along the headland toward the cliff edge. There, he used the mirror to reflect sunlight and flash a message to the schooner.

On board the
Rendezvous,
McTavish and first mate Foley had been arguing as they watched events unfold on shore. Knowing that Nathan and the Drakes were in danger, Foley had wanted to lead an armed party ashore to help the Qopa repel the outcasts. The captain had opposed this on the grounds it was too dangerous. Flashes of sunlight coming from the headland suddenly caught their attention.

McTavish said, “I’m guessing that’s Mr. Johnson.”

“Aye and I’m guessing he wants his muskets, sir,” Foley added, looking at the captain expectantly.

McTavish weighed up the pros and cons then, relenting, said, “You and a dozen armed men can take the muskets ashore in the longboat, Mr. Foley.” The Irishman turned to leave, but the captain restrained him, saying, “But the men are to take no part in the fighting. Just deliver the muskets to the foot of the cliffs and get back to the ship quick as you can.”

“But sir—”

“I will not risk my men in some intertribal skirmish, Mr. Foley,” McTavish interjected.

“Aye, sir.” Foley turned on his heel and hurried off. “You two,” he shouted at two nearby crewmen, “launch the longboat.” Rounding up half a dozen others, he said, “Load three caskets of the American’s muskets into the longboat.”

The crewmen hurried to carry out their orders while Foley handpicked twelve men to accompany him ashore.

# 

While Nathan awaited the arrival of his muskets, Susannah and her father were circulating among the villagers who had taken refuge on the rocky outcrop at the end of the peninsular.

The missionaries comforted the frightened women, children, and elderly, offering words of encouragement and ministering to them with prayer. Although the couple’s knowledge of the Fijian language was basic at best, they at least made themselves understood and their efforts were appreciated by all.

Susannah noticed a young mother who was trying her best to comfort her three infants. The infants were crying for their father who was involved in the hostilities less than a hundred yards from where they were sheltering. Susannah hurried over to comfort the small group.

Engaging the young mother in conversation, she quickly learned the woman’s husband was among the defenders. “Let me pray for your husband,” Susannah suggested in hesitant Fijian. The woman nodded eagerly, her eyes bright with hope. “What is his name?” Susannah asked.

“Kafoa,” the woman said softly.

Praying aloud, Susannah said, “Dear Lord, I pray you will watch over Kafoa and keep him safe in the coming battle. Protect him so that he will return unharmed to the arms of his loving wife and children. I pray also for the welfare of the other Qopa warriors and all the people of Momi Bay.”

Opening her eyes, Susannah saw Nathan. He had his back to her and was still signaling the
Rendezvous
from the cliff edge.

Susannah resumed praying. “I pray also for Mr. Johnson and ask that you keep him safe from harm . . .” She suddenly stopped praying. It came as a surprise to her that she had mentioned Nathan in her prayer. The realization dawned on her that she didn’t despise him as much as she thought she did.

Suddenly aware the young mother and her children were looking at her, Susannah closed her eyes and said, “Amen.”

Susannah had no way of knowing she wasn’t the only one thinking of Nathan at that moment. Selaima, the seductive slave girl, had been thinking of the American from the moment she first saw him in Iremaia’s bure the previous evening. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind, and now, as Selaima watched him at the cliff edge, she vowed she wouldn’t rest until he shared her bed mat.

10

W
atching the
Rendezvous
from the cliff top, Nathan was relieved to see the schooner’s longboat being launched. He hoped the craft would be used to bring his muskets ashore. Sure enough, one casket of his muskets appeared from below deck promptly followed by two more.

Nathan quickly did the math: sixty muskets. He thought that should be enough. Again, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

I can’t believe I’m doing this to save these bastards.

The American reminded himself the muskets were needed to save his own skin—and Susannah’s. He glanced back at the battle raging behind him and could see the defenders’ situation was becoming desperate. Rambuka and his outcasts were now pouring through gaps they’d smashed in the palisades and were engaging Iremaia’s warriors in vicious hand-to-hand fighting.

Nathan looked back at the longboat and its crew and willed them to hurry. He knew the Qopa couldn’t hold out much longer.

Rambuka was sensing victory. The Outcast saw Iremaia, aimed his musket at him, and pulled the trigger. The musket malfunctioned with a hollow click. Rambuka cursed and began priming his musket for a second attempt. He was interrupted by a female defender who was coming at him with a spear. Using his musket as a club, he smashed her to the ground. The Outcast then dropped his musket, grabbed a throwing club hanging from his waist, and threw it at Iremaia. The old ratu saw the club spinning end over end toward him and ducked just in time. The weapon’s blade lodged between the eyes of a tall warrior standing directly behind him, the force of the blow hurling the victim backward. More outcasts poured through the gaps in the palisades.

Realizing his warriors were about to be overrun, Iremaia shouted, “Fall back! Fall back!” The Qopa retreated to the second line of palisades, where possible carrying their dead and wounded with them.

Faced with another line of defense, Rambuka thought it prudent to delay the final assault until all options had been considered. He signaled to his followers to fall back beyond the range of the defenders’ spears. They, too, carried their dead and wounded with them.

Out of danger for the moment, Iremaia took stock of his situation. It didn’t look good. At least ten defenders had been killed and twice that number wounded. Rambuka had lost a similar number, but at least the remaining outcasts were armed with muskets. Iremaia knew it was only a matter of time before his Qopa warriors were overrun.

Villagers not involved in the fighting were still huddled together on the rocky outcrop at the end of the headland.
The children’s crying and the groans of the wounded mingled with wailing and chanting for the dead.

Susannah and her father were helping tend the wounded. Using some of the nursing skills she’d acquired on the voyage out from England, Susannah was busy stitching up a nasty gash in a warrior’s thigh while her father bandaged the arm of another warrior.

The Drakes were too preoccupied to notice the
Rendezvous
’s longboat nosing into the foot of the cliffs below them, but Nathan wasn’t. He’d been watching the craft since it had set out for the headland. Foley was at the helm. The Irishman had twelve armed crewmen with him. Lightning Rod and three others manned the oars.

Nathan wasn’t the only one watching the longboat. Rambuka had noticed it, also. Ten of his followers had launched one of their outriggers and were sailing out from the beach to investigate. Nearing the longboat, they were met by a volley of musket fire from the sailors.

The shooting was accurate: one outcast was killed and another wounded.

The outrigger promptly turned back. As it sailed away, an outcast in the stern fired a
parting shot. It hit Lightning Rod between the eyes, killing him instantly. He fell back into the longboat.

Foley rushed to Lightning Rod’s aid.
“Rod!” Distraught, he cradled his young crewmate in his arms as the other sailors jumped onto rocks at the foot of the cliff. “Not you, Rod,” he whispered. “Not you.”

The Irishman could only watch as a reception party of four teenage boys from the besieged village helped unload the three caskets of muskets and a crate of ammunition from the boat then secure the cargo to long ropes hanging down from the cliff top. Still holding Lightning Rod in his arms, Foley glanced up and spotted Nathan looking down from the cliff top a hundred feet above. The two nodded gravely to each other. Moments later, Nathan’s precious cargo was being pulled up the cliff face.

On the cliff top, Nathan could see that some misfortune had befallen Lightning Rod, but right now he had too much on his mind to worry about him. Joeli and Waisale suddenly appeared at his side and began assisting the dozen or so men who were pulling on the ropes. As soon as the caskets were safely on terra firma, the warriors rushed to open two of them and distribute the muskets and ammunition.

Nathan grabbed two muskets for himself. He and the others then hurried back to reinforce the defenders barricaded behind the second line of palisades. Four warriors brought the third casket of muskets and spare ammunition with them.

Waiting behind the palisades, Iremaia could only watch as the outcasts razed bures on the village outskirts. Smoke from a dozen fires curled skyward. Rambuka stood among the ruins, staring insolently at his enemies. He turned and strode back to his men, rallying them for another attack.

Iremaia and his warriors welcomed the arrival of Nathan’s muskets. In no time, every spare musket was accounted for. This presented a new set of problems as most of the warriors
were handling a musket for the first time. The bemused Qopa grappled with loading their newly acquired weapons. The results would have been comical if it weren’t for the severity of the situation. The one-eyed Babitu accidentally discharged his musket, shooting a hole through the foot of the hapless warrior next to him. The wounded Qopa fell down, holding his foot and bellowing in pain. There were several other near misses as other muskets were accidentally discharged.

Nathan ran frantically from one warrior to the next, teaching them how to prime their muskets, fire and reload. Shaking his head in frustration, he sought out Joeli, complaining, “Never mind your enemies. Your own men are gonna wipe each other out!”

The ratu’s son looked at Nathan with a look that said
that’s your problem.
He simply said, “You teach, White-Face.”

It was then Nathan noticed Joeli didn’t have a musket. He offered his spare musket to him. Joeli looked at Nathan with disdain, pointing to the club he was holding and the tomahawk hanging at his side.

Nathan took the hint and hurried off to provide what instruction he could to other warriors who were more receptive to using the white man’s weapons.

While Nathan was helping the warriors master the use of their muskets, Joeli and Iremaia discussed tactics. There wasn’t a lot to talk about as their options were limited. Essentially, they had to hold off their enemies for as long as they could before retreating to the next line of palisades. Their final stand would be made at the rocky outcrop where the villagers had gathered at the end of the headland. If all else failed, in the time-honored tradition survivors would jump over the cliff rather than face capture.

A lookout shouted out, drawing the defenders’ attention to the outcasts who were gathering around a cooking fire they’d lit. Looking on, Nathan saw they were roasting the body of a man on a make-shift spit they’d placed over the fire. Rambuka himself was overseeing the gruesome ritual as two of his men turned the spit.

Joeli identified the body as that of his cousin. “It is Solomone,” he murmured.

Iremaia nodded grimly as he watched Rambuka prod the carcass with a stick. Satisfied it was tender, Rambuka then carved off a morsel of cooked flesh, which he held up high for all to see.

The Outcast yelled, “Rambuka eats the flesh of his enemies!” He then devoured the flesh.

Shouting chilling war cries, Rambuka’s followers then attacked the body, using knives and tomahawks to carve off flesh for themselves.

The Qopa watched, grim-faced, as one of their own was eaten before their very eyes.

The outcasts then began massing to resume their attack on the village. At a signal from Rambuka, they came, firing as they ran. This time they were met with a crescendo of musket fire from the defenders. Most of the shots went high or wide, but some found their mark.

Several outcasts fell. The worst damage was inflicted by Nathan, who proved he was a fine marksman, shooting dead three outcasts with his first three shots.

Still the outcasts kept coming. Leading the way, Rambuka broke through the palisades. He was closely followed by a dozen others. Fierce hand-to-hand fighting followed.

As he fought, Rambuka eyed the storage hut perched atop four high poles that he and the others had been studying earlier. The Outcast disengaged from the fighting and led seven of his men toward the hut. Four of them carried axes. When they reached the structure, the axemen began hacking at the poles while Rambuka and the other three stood guard, ready to repel any villagers who came at them.

Iremaia and Joeli were so engrossed in the fighting, they didn’t notice Rambuka’s men chopping down the storage hut. A dozen mighty axe blows was all it took for the first pole to topple. The others followed almost immediately and the whole structure fell to the ground.

Only then did Joeli notice what Rambuka was up to. Unfortunately, he was powerless to stop him: Joeli had been baled up by three outcasts and was fighting for his very survival.

Rambuka wasted no time in smashing open the storage hut. He looked in and smiled. There, unscathed, was his prize: a whale’s tooth known throughout Fiji as the golden tabua. Extracted from the lower jaw of a sperm whale, its golden color had been achieved by staining with tumeric after polishing with the leaves of the masi ni tabua tree. A plaited cord of pandanus leaf was attached to each end of the tooth.

Traditionally the most valued possession within Fijian culture, the golden tabua was the ultimate symbol of respect among all the tribes. It was certainly the most sacred possession of the Qopa and had a mana, or status, all of its own.

Rambuka reached in and plucked out the sacred tooth. He held it up before his eyes and marveled at how its golden sheen sparkled in the sunlight.

Joeli could only watch from afar as his half-brother lay claim to the golden tabua. He knew better than most how much the sacred object meant to his people. It played an important role in the very fabric of everyday life, keeping the Fijian culture alive. It featured in births, deaths, sealing interclan and intertribal alliances, and was even used to settle grievances.

Joeli’s heart sank when he saw Rambuka drop the golden tabua into a pouch that hung from his waist. He vowed he’d kill Rambuka and retrieve the prized possession before this day was out. Right now, he had more pressing problems. Wielding his trusty club and tomahawk, he’d dispatched two of the three outcasts who had baled him up, but their places had been immediately taken by two more. One of them, a huge man, was proving a real handful and Joeli had to backpeddle rapidly to avoid the big man’s swinging club.

Seeing Joeli’s plight, Nathan shot the huge outcast dead with his musket then shot another with his pistol. Joeli made short work of the third outcast, cleaving his head in two with his tomahawk. He barely had time to acknowledge Nathan’s life-saving actions with a nod before he was confronted by another two outcasts.

A Samoan outcast broke through the last line of defenders and began running up the hill toward the villagers huddled on the rocky outcrop. He carried a musket in each hand and shot a club-wielding villager who tried to intercept him.

On the rocky outcrop, the Drakes were working feverishly to save the life of a wounded boy warrior. They looked up just in time to see the Samoan climbing over the rocks, not five yards away. Susannah screamed. The outcast stood atop the rocks, legs astride, and raised one of his muskets toward Drake Senior. The missionary drew his pistol from his belt, aimed it, and fired. His aim was true. The Samoan fell on top of Susannah, winding her. Terrified, she screamed again and pushed the dead man off her.

Drake Senior looked at the smoking barrel of his pistol. “Forgive me, Lord,” he whispered. Turning to Susannah, he asked, “Are you alright?”

Shocked, Susannah nodded and turned her attention back to the boy warrior whose life they were trying to save. She knew she had to stay busy. As the sounds of battle grew closer, she feared she’d flee in panic if she took any notice of what was happening further along the headland.

To take her mind off the mayhem around her, Susannah allowed her thoughts to stray to Nathan, whom she observed had rejoined the battle. She was starting to think she may have misjudged the American. After all, he had risked his life coming back to alert her and her father to the outcasts’ arrival, and now he was using his own muskets to help the Qopa fight off their enemies.

Almost as quickly, she put Nathan out of her mind, telling herself he was ungodly and
worldly to a fault.
A leopard can’t change its spots,
she reminded herself.

Behind the second line of palisades, the defenders were sustaining horrific casualties. Iremaia found
himself face-to-face with his outcast son, Rambuka, who had rejoined the fray since uplifting the golden tabua. As the old chief struggled to reload his musket, Rambuka smiled cruelly and raised his tomahawk. Thirty yards away, Joeli looked on powerless to help his father as, seemingly in slow motion, Rambuka brought the sharp blade of his tomahawk down on Iremaia’s skull, splitting it in two. The Outcast then raised his blood-stained weapon above his head and looked skyward, shouting, “Vengeance!”